


Pathetic

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's pathetic because it happens every time, Sam always ends up here on his knees in front of Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathetic

“Care to join me?”

It’s always said in this low, sultry voice, thick like honey with a southern accent that doesn’t quite belong there but makes the words all the sweeter. The question works itself into Sam’s system pretty quickly, gets him from cold to blistering hot in a matter of seconds. It doesn’t matter how Dean waggles his eyebrows or which crude gestures he enacts, the question has already set everything in motion. It’s a done deal.

Dean could strip naked in the library and stand on his head, babbling in gibberish and this still wouldn’t play out any differently. The trap’s been set and Sam stepped right into it. A fool was he, suggesting Dean take a shower. 

And Sam needs to pretend, for his own sanity, that he isn’t that easy. Pathetic is a better word for it. He fights it, shrugs his shoulder and doesn’t commit to a real answer. Not immediately agreeing seems more forgivable than trailing Dean like a puppy. Watching Dean deflate and walk off toward the bathroom is satisfying except that it’s not because it’s just a part of the song and dance. Dean’s no more disappointed than Sam is strong enough to resist his brother.

It still feels like he’s won some personal battle, even as he closes his laptop and stands from the table, following the interconnecting hallways to the bathroom where he can hear the shower already going. There’s always this moment before he does something like this, whether it’s in the shower at home or in a truck stop bathroom, where he wonders if he has enough control over himself. It’s not really a problem, though, he decides, because whatever parts of himself that aren’t in his own control are totally and irrevocably Dean’s. 

In fact, Dean holds the key to a lot of parts of Sam, including this part that makes Sam powerless but to follow in his older brother’s lead. He strips out of his clothes before stepping into the shower behind the older man. Dean doesn’t seem surprised or if he is, he doesn’t show it. Sam’s betting that he’s not surprised. But he’s decent enough not to be smug. 

The walk from the table to the bathroom is really the first and last level of this game. Once Sam’s in the shower, blatantly displaying how he is in fact pathetic, there’s really no reason for him to hold onto his guns. Dean’s always been a better shot anyway and, in here, Sam’s probably the easiest target he’s ever aimed at. 

Sam sinks to his knees and Dean doesn’t even have to say anything. There’s mountains of material, here, Sam’s sure. Dean could sling countless barbs and insults about how Sam is hungry for Dean’s cock; so pathetically dick-whipped for his older brother that he can’t resist Dean’s offers even when they’re put on the table sarcastically. He wouldn’t be wrong if he did say all those things which is why Sam is glad that Dean keeps his mouth shut.

Instead, he cradles the back of Sam’s head and pushes his dripping cockhead into Sam’s mouth. 

“So fuckin’ good, Sammy,” Dean says approvingly and Sam hums. Praise is much preferable to taunts. 

There’s a chance that Dean is just as hard up for this as Sam is. That’s why the stinging insults never come. He really can’t say what Dean might do if, one day, he actually was able to stick to his guns and say no. It might be chaos, there’s even a chance that Dean would take matters into his own hands and seduce Sam into the shower anyway. Or perhaps he would do nothing, jerk off in the shower, and come out and never say a word about it. Sam doesn’t know. As intriguing as the hypothesis is, Sam’s too afraid of the results to start the experiment. Afraid isn’t the right word, but too weak to ever say no to his brother. In his opinion, the payout of having a definitive answer isn’t a good enough incentive to stop doing this.

The back of Dean’s head hits the wet shower tiles with a dull sound, a guttural moan leaving his mouth as Sam continues to suck and lap at his cock. He’s happy to do this, to bring Dean off this way, but his brother stops him, and forces him to stand up.

“Wanna fuck you, Sammy,” he says.

Sam’s more than amenable to that. Dean fucked him last night and Sam likes to keep himself loose throughout the day, especially because Dean’s sexual appetite is erratic at best. He never knows when the older hunter is going to mount him or beckon him to one part of the bunker or the other. So he doesn’t have to think, just has to stand up and turn around and present himself. 

Dean fingers him anyway, despite the fact that he’s already loose. He still works two fingers into him and Sam doesn’t understand why Dean needs to see this or do this but he’s not about to complain, like he never complains about anything they do here. There’s probably something to be said for keeping himself open more often than not, always being prepared for the onslaught of Dean’s lust. A voice in his head suggests that being pathetic isn’t what he should be worried about; he passed pathetic a bottle of lube and a butt plug ago. 

But if pathetic gets him here, dripping wet with Dean pushing into him from behind in one slow sure thrust, then maybe Sam can accept the fact that he’s pathetic. He’s accepted worse truths about himself and with Dean’s hard cock pressing against his prostate like that, he can’t exactly remember why this truth is a bad one. It feels good, _really_ good and Sam pushes back into every thrust and doesn’t bite back his moans because, damn it, he _is_ hungry for it. He’s hungry for it all the time, every day, every minute that he breathes and remembers the feeling of Dean’s cock inside him.

Whatever, he’s dick-whipped, would probably bind his feet to his hands and offer himself up to a higher power if it meant that Dean would stick his dick in him. He shamelessly wants Dean, loves him so much that the words never come out right. Perhaps it’s sad, a little heartbreaking, for him to love one person this much. He should have a little shame. He can’t manage it though, beyond recognizing that it may be more polite, he’s never felt any shame for loving Dean this way. After being fucked half to death in a shower, it seems like a pretty lousy place to start.

He can hear Dean’s breathless whimpers against the back of his neck, the ones that tell Sam that it’s too good, that _he’s_ too good, for the older man to keep quiet. There’s a chance that Sam’s not the only one here who’s pathetic. It doesn’t take long for him to tighten up around Dean and paint the wall with his release, gasping Dean’s name in broken syllables. Dean fills him up right after, holds still just long enough for him to shiver at the warmth of Sam and then he slips out, lets the come mix with the water as it runs down Sam’s thighs.

“I love you,” Sam says and it’s not the first time in history that he’s ever said it but it’s the first time in a long time, with all his teeth in place and decades after his obsession with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He’s not a chubby six year old, smiling up at his older brother and proclaiming his love in much the same manner he made all other declarations at that age, with enthusiasm and blind eagerness. 

This is Sam, saying the words softly and surprising himself as much as Dean, trying to convey that despite how weak this sometimes makes him feel, he doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t regret loving Dean this way or accepting it in return. They’re both getting too old to feel ashamed. 

“Back at you, bitch,” Dean says. It’s pathetic that that’s enough for Sam, that his heart leaps and his lips turn up at the corners. It’s not the same as saying it back would have been and, in another life, Sam might have felt jilted or robbed of a moment. Instead, he just feels relieved.

“Shut it, jerk,” he says back. Dean must have turned off the spray of the shower sometime in the haze Sam was working through, post-orgasm. Dean leaves the shower and winks at him before walking out of the bathroom. And it’s pathetic, really, how Sam doesn’t feel at all offended by the fact that he’s being left here to clean up their mess.

Sam’s starting to understand, though, that he rather likes being pathetic. In fact, after all these years of denial and giving in anyway, he can almost certainly say it’s his preference. 

**Author's Note:**

> More writing at goditsmesam.tumblr.com


End file.
